Is what we heard on Saturday night at midnight as we were watching a movie.
I thought the damn cat had knocked something off the counter in the kitchen.
Josh thought he should go check on Finn.
Good thing one of us is smart.
I heard the wailing as they approached the stairs.
We don’t know exactly what happened but I suspect Finn woke up and thought he was standing on the ground, but was actually standing on his bed and when he took a step, he fell.
And he fell hard. On something with a sharp corner. That cracked his forehead.
There was a gash on his forehead that was becoming a goose egg alarmingly fast. Josh handed him to me and went on a hunt for ice.
To say I’m excellent in a crisis would be fact.
If it were opposite day.
Oh my goodness, ouch, I bet that hurt. Oh goodness, Finn is going to die. He is GOING TO DIE. His head is split open and he’s going to DIE. And then I’m going to die because I can’t live without him. DEATH-DEAD-DIE.
Apparently this is not how you should react when you are attempting to comfort your 3-year-old son.
Josh gave me a look telling me to SHUT UP because I was not helping.
Someone has to be calm and collected in this situation. Not going to be me.
I’m a very good person for pacing and worrying and calling the doctor at the most inappropriate times. Most often between 12p-6a. And on all major holidays, I call just to say hello.
Finn didn’t have concussion, didn’t need to be go to the ER, didn’t hardly bleed, and didn’t die (much to my surprise). He does have wicked gash that will probably turn into a cool scar that he can invent a story to go with. He did sleep next to me all night to make me him feel better.
In the future when he gets in trouble, I’ll just blame that he used to jump out of bed in the middle of the night and crash his head into wooden furniture, it is NOT because I dropped him on his head too many times as a baby.